


Surrender

by context_please



Series: Atlantis Episode Tags / Codas [6]
Category: Merlin (TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bromance, Crossover, Domestic Fluff, John Sheppard Needs a Hug, M/M, Merciless mocking of Marmite, Post Episode AU: s05e19 Vegas, Really no one likes Marmite, Slice of Life, So much crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/context_please/pseuds/context_please
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up when he should be dead, works in a book shop, and meets an artist. </p><p>(Or: How John gets his life back after Vegas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as the Merlin crossover no one needed. (Except me, apparently.)
> 
> This deals with events post-Vegas for SGA post-series for Merlin. Basically, this is shameless domestic fluff with book shop shenanigans and Gwaine's sass. 
> 
> I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.

Just when John Sheppard thought it was finally time to die, life decided to cling to him like a disease.

It wasn’t as though he even wanted it in the first place. He knew, with absolute certainty, that every fiber of his being was crying out for the end, singing its happiness for the chance to die – the one wish he’d never been able to fulfill on his own.

He pushed away from his now-destroyed car, clutching the blood-slicked bullet wound just above his heart and feeling the hot liquid on his fingers. Heat radiated from the spot fires left behind in the wake of the explosion, debris scattered haphazardly. His knees wobbled wildly and his vision swam in and out of focus, sending his crashing to the ground. Dust billowed up into his face, but his arms and legs stubbornly refused to obey him. In truth, he wasn’t even trying to get away. He knew his time was at an end, and he was ready to embrace that wholeheartedly. The struggle to keep going – well, he wasn’t entirely sure what that was. Probably for old times sake.

So instead of getting up, he rolled over so he wasn’t eating dust. The sun was setting above him: the light burned his eyes, leaving a lasting impression when he blinked. But the sky… the sky was a brilliant azure blue, the most perfect colour he’d ever dreamed of. If there was one thing he wanted to look at before he died, it was the sky. The place he’d always loved.

Just when the world faded to the sky, when sound passed into background noise. Just when the feeling of dust and sweat on his skin faded, when the slickness of blood ceased to matter.

Just when the pain drifted away, when the darkness was ready to take him, and he could feel himself ebbing away...

Just when he was surrendering to death, the rumble of a car sounded beside him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He awoke to pain.

Specifically, the pain of someone prying a bullet wound.

He could feel fingers, pulling apart the flesh, suddenly replaced by freezing cold metal holding the sides open. The smell of latex was heavy in the air, but there was no scent of sickness, or the attempted sterility of a hospital. Beneath his unclothed back, a wooden surface scratched at his skin.

Yet, there were so many people around that John was certain he must be in a hospital. Voices, soft and demanding in equal measure, drifted to his ears, and the sound of metal clanking together joined them.

And then, something entered the bullet wound above his heart.

The freezing cold metal set his nerves alight, and before he thought about it, he let out a low groan and his eyes shot open.

Instead of the white hospital ceiling he expected, or even a blinding light, he was staring up at a light wood ceiling of what appeared to be an apartment, with down lights shining on him. His right arm clenched and clutched at the table as the instrument delved deeper into the wound.

His vision swirled dangerously, and he blinked rapidly, forcing his brain to focus. When his eyes finally obeyed, he was looking at a handsome face with golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. His lips began to move, and John frowned while he kick-started his brain again. Slowly, words began to form. ‘…lin, he’s awake,’ the man called to who John thought may have been the surgeon. ‘Come on, _come on_ ,’ he said to John, grabbing a hold of his right arm and squeezing tightly. ‘You’re safe here, okay? We found you by your car, and there was this burning thing… not important.’

John was shocked back into awareness as soon as the slap registered, and his eyes jerked back toward the blonde man.

‘Good,’ the man said, a little panicked, ‘good. You just look at me, okay? You have to focus on me. My name’s Arthur, Arthur Penn, so now we know each other a little bit, you have to trust me when I say that you’re going to be okay. You’ve got the best doctor in the world helping you here, so you’ll be good as new…’

Then, John felt a tug in his chest, and the bullet was sliding out slowly. His jaw clenched against the cry threatening to break free, and he clutched even more desperately at the table. Other hands appeared on his chest, holding him down to still the writhing, and he was sure that some sort of undignified keen had just escaped his throat.

With a final tug, the bullet was gone.

He slumped back onto the table, feeling the wood scratch his back, and breathed properly for the first time in what felt like days.

The world vanished.

 

 

 

 

 

This time, when John awoke, it was to the brightness of the sun in his eyes.

It hit him with full force, blinding him for a moment, tiny little spots dancing in his vision as he blinked. He really ought to stop looking into the sun; it was bad for his eyes.

Like that was going to happen. He avoided good things like the plague for a perfectly reasonable reason.

He just couldn’t remember any of them right now.

Groaning, he rolled over and away from the sun.

The bed under him was comfortable, the sheets soft with use and the quilt warm but snuggly, just the way John liked it. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed like this in so long; probably close to a year now. He’d mostly slept in his car, but after a case he could usually afford a few nights in a hotel room. If John was honest, he preferred sleeping in his car.

The car that was now well and truly destroyed.

Oh, well. _If you’re gonna fuck something up, fuck it up big_ , he told himself. He had definitely done that, so maybe it was worth it in the end.

When he turned his eyes to the rest of the room – cream walls, smoky grey armchair, a large closet – he saw a figure sitting in a chair beside his bed. He was different to the man John vaguely remembered; dark hair and stubble thoroughly proved that. He looked younger than John, early thirties at the most, and strong. He was asleep.

John sat up, wincing as the stitched wounds in his chest and gut pulled. He hated that feeling, always had. It was like his stitches would pull apart any second. He also hated being in bed. When John thought about, one hate obviously vetoed the other.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grateful that whoever had found him had obviously had the decency not to strip him of his jeans. His socks and shoes sat at the end of the bed, and he shuffled closer to tug them on. There was a fierce ache in his gut as he bent forward, but he ignored it.

Footwear taken care of, John stood on unsteady legs and wandered over to the closet. The doors opened easily, revealing rows of t-shirts and jeans hung up neatly. He grabbed a black shirt and pulled it over his head. That way, if he started bleeding, it would be easy to wash out of the shirt. His chest twinged helpfully as he pulled on the shirt. Oh, he was going to have so much fun.

John opened the door and stepped into a hallway. It was lit brightly by the sun; light poured in through a large window to his left.

The hallway itself was normal; painted white with light wooden floorboards. But it didn’t lead to a door. Instead, as he found out, it led to the living room.

A living room full of people.

When John emerged from the hallway, he saw two dark brown couches, facing the television, and a thick white rug. There were large windows that opened to a carefully kept backyard and a kitchen that screamed wealth. He hated it when kitchens did that.

The six people on the couches turned to him, and they all smiled.

John was pretty sure that he’d never had that many people deign to smile at him in his _entire_ _life_ , let alone in one moment.

One man got up from the couch and came toward him. ‘You’re awake!’ he exclaimed happily. The man was lanky, gangly, but balanced out by the muscle he’d obviously gained via a life of training. John instantly knew he was in the military, or had been.

‘We were worried for a while there,’ the man admitted, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Merlin. Merlin Emery.’

John shook his hand mostly out of courtesy. He would be gone in a few minutes anyways. ‘John Sheppard,’ he replied.

‘Nice to meet you for real, John,’ Merlin said, smiling at him again. This much smiling was making his stomach turn and head spin.

‘You too,’ John said absently before locating the door and moving toward it. ‘So, thanks for, you know, saving my life and all, but I’d better leave.’

Merlin followed him, the smile wiped off of his face. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.

‘Look,’ John said. ‘You don’t understand. You’re a good man, a good Marine. You don’t want to get involved with me.’

Merlin’s eyebrow raised for a moment – a surprisingly fierce expression for such a lanky guy – and then he snorted. ‘Yeah, whatever. I am your doctor, and that means that I am your primary caretaker. You stay here.’

 

 

 

 

 

He was introduced to Leon, Gwaine, Percy, Elyan, and Lancelot almost immediately, and reintroduced to Arthur after that.

Sheppard braced to get up from the couch, pain sparking along his abdominals. ‘Look, I really appreciate the help, but you should have –‘

‘What? Left you to die?’ Merlin snapped, fury in his eyes.

Sinking back into the couch, John lifted his eyebrows, unimpressed. What did this kid care?

Gwaine peered around Merlin, a smirk assembling on his face. ‘Mate, you’re a little bit crazy,’ he said, sounding _pleased_ about it.

‘Gwaine. Leave it,’ Lancelot ordered quietly, watching John with dark, knowing eyes.

Merlin took a step towards John. Sheppard was a little pissed to find the boy was taller than him. At least John had the weight advantage, although not by much. ‘What would you know about death?’ Merlin growled.

John deflated, diverted his eyes. He knew entirely too much about death – he’d been there so many times and failed to tip over the edge. Death walked alongside him, taking everything he had but refusing to take John. His voice was cold when he stated; ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve bled out onto the sand and found myself somehow alive. Don’t talk to me about death, kid.’

‘Merlin,’ Arthur murmured quietly, interrupting the red-faced Marine.

‘So who shot you?’ Gwaine asked, tone light.

John raised an eyebrow and decided to go with the truth. Who would believe him anyway? ‘An alien.’

‘As in, tiny grey thing with a disproportionately large head?’

‘Not quite.’ John grimaced at the memory, shifting in his seat. ‘Think human mixed with bug with really gross teeth and you’re getting warmer.’

Gwaine cringed.

Arthur’s eyes fixed on him with renewed interest. ‘How did an alien come to shoot you?’

‘You _believe_ this guy?’ Leon exclaimed. The expression on his face told John how crazy he thought they were.

Percival placed a calming hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘He’s not lying,’ he said quietly, then turned his attention to John. ‘Are you?’

Hesitating, his eyes darted over the group. Ah, fuck it. ‘…No.’ He ran his hands through his hair, pissed and tired and so done with his life. ‘I am – _was_ – a detective. Three months ago, I got a call about a kill, went out to investigate. The body wasn’t what I expected – the guy’s photo ID said he was thirty but the body could have been one hundred years old. He’d aged over 70 years overnight. And he had this weird mark in the middle of his chest.’

‘You went after it,’ Arthur stated.

‘It was killing people,’ John replied. ‘I couldn’t just let it go – not when some detective with a wife and kids would be put on the case. Me? I had nothing to lose.’ And so he told them the whole sordid tale. John told him about the Wraith, the one that disguised itself as a human, of how it survived a multi-story fall. Of Rodney McKay, who told him to let it go. Of the Wraith that could have told him his destiny. Of a John in an alternate universe who wasn’t a complete fuck up. Of the trailer and the final battle. ‘I knew I was going to die,’ he said simply. ‘It was just a question of whether or not I’d become Wraith chow.’

Silence reigned.

‘So… aliens,’ Gwaine drawled. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be excited or scared shitless.

John could sympathize. ‘Yeah.’

He stretched his arms out, the tension running along the back of his neck and into his shoulders. Pain coursed through him as the stitches pulled, but it didn’t really bother him. John was used to pain.

‘So,’ he said into the silence. ‘Why are you all named after the Knights of the Round Table? I mean, it’s a bit of a coincidence to have you all in one place.’

Elyan glanced over to Arthur. ‘I think we can trust him.’

Percival’s nod of agreement seemed to carry a lot of weight.

‘We _are_ the Knights of the Round Table,’ Lancelot said, deadly serious.

Any other day, John would have laughed in their faces. Not today. He looked at Arthur. ‘So you’re…’

‘Yep,’ Arthur replied, a grin on his face. He looked goofy and entirely too young, but he had this presence about him. This group would be important, one day. He could feel it.

A flaming golden dragon suddenly reared up in front of him, orange flames dancing in the late afternoon sun. It was beautiful, roaring in his face and flapping its wings, able to fly freely, without the trappings of metal all around him. John wished he could have been born with wings. That would be the coolest thing ever. As it was, the dragon came a close second.

When he looked past the now prancing dragon to Merlin, he saw the kid’s outstretched hand first. John’s eyes followed the length of his arm and rested on his face. There was a soft smile there, as if the magic was relaxing. His eyes swirled with molten gold.

‘Cool,’ John grinned.

 

 

 

 

Dinner was a surprisingly quiet affair. Most of the Knights – the _knights_ – had been awake since they’d found John bleeding into the sand. So when he sat down, only Merlin, Arthur, and Percival joined him at the table.

The whole reincarnation thing had been explained to him. It seemed a fairly simple concept. In fact, when his mother had been alive she’d believed in reincarnation. Maybe she was reborn after all.

They’d also told him a little about their past lives. It was pretty awesome to hear the adventures of the Knights of the Round Table from the men themselves. Merlin sheepishly confessed that he’d teleported them to his penthouse apartment in London. John didn’t really mind. There was nothing for him in America, anyway.

As John dug into his mashed potatoes – he hadn’t had a real dinner in months – a horrific thought popped into his mind. ‘Merlin,’ he began slowly, ‘you weren’t reincarnated, were you? You’ve been alive the whole time.’

Merlin’s smile was as tired as John felt. Sheppard knew what it was like to lose everything and still be alive.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized quietly.

At that, Merlin seemed to brighten. ‘No one’s ever understood enough to apologize… Thank you,’ he said, sincerity in every pore.

‘I know what it’s like to be alone.’

Percival’s gaze was heavy on him. ‘That car was all you had.’

Voice rough, John answered, ‘yeah. I haven’t spoken to my family in nearly 25 years. My friends died in Afghanistan… I’ll never see Rodney McKay again. And I’m 13,000 dollars in debt and I have less than 2,300 in my bank account. Handed in my badge.’ John sighed. ‘I know you believe otherwise, but there’s nothing here for me anymore. I was ready to die. I turn 39 in a week and all I had was a goddamn car. Even that’s gone now.’

Arthur was deep in thought. ‘Maybe you could help us out,’ he suggested. ‘Merlin runs a bookstore a couple of blocks from here and only Gwaine helps out there. He needs more staff. Would you be up for the job?’

It wasn’t like John had anything better to do. There were worse ways to spend his life than in a book shop.

‘Sure.’

 

 

 

 

Merlin’s bookshop was a quaint little place on the corner of a bustling intersection. The interior was all dark wood and weathered shelves clashing with shiny new book covers. The ceilings were high, and couches dotted the space, tucked into peaceful little corners. John always loved the smell of books and the store called to him in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid.

The smile stayed on his face throughout his first day and well into his first week. Nothing was perfect. He had no clothes, no car, and no life. But at least he was in a place that felt like home. Walking into the shop each day was just what he needed.

Merlin’s customers seemed to love him. John read a lot of books when he was a kid. His copies of _I, Claudius_ and _Hamlet_ were battered from his years of service. When he mentioned them, sadness in his tone, Merlin had appeared the next day with both books. They were the same – even down to the note he’d written for Sergeant Dane in Afghanistan.

John gave surprisingly good advice on book choices. A few customers kept coming back to see him, wanting to talk about the book they’d just read, piking another, or trying to find a gift.

Sheppard liked working with Merlin. The man had a way with people – especially Arthur – that endeared him to John. Gwaine grew on him too. John had never had a best friend, but if he did, Gwaine would be it.

On Saturday nights after closing, Merlin and Gwaine would talk about their life in Camelot. On weeknights, Merlin would tell John about the other lives he led, about his most recent time in the Marines.

John was glad he stayed.

 

 

 

 

On a quiet Tuesday three weeks into working at Merlin’s shop, John applied to do his PhD.

It was an online course. He could still study and stay with Merlin in London, but get his degree from the American institutions. All of his education had been there, even his masters – it was easier to pick up where he left off.

Receiving his letter of acceptance was one of the greatest moments of his life – not quite as good as his first flight, but a pretty close second.

‘So,’ he said to Merlin the next morning. ‘I got accepted for an online course.’

‘That’s great!’ the warlock exclaimed, a goofy grin on his face. ‘What course is it?’

‘I’m doing my PhD in mathematics.’

Merlin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘You’re actually a genius, aren’t you?’ he groaned.

‘Could have been in MENSA,’ John admitted, amused.

Merlin’s head collided with his palm. ‘We spent last night seeing who could snort water the furthest. You must think we’re so stupid.’

Startled, John laughed so hard a couple of customers checked to see if he was all right. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told Merlin around the giggles, ‘I happen to like stupid.’

 

 

 

 

‘Hi, John!’

‘Hannah,’ he greeted with a grin.

Hannah was his favourite customer. She was bright, sunny, and shamelessly loved his accent. In a way, she reminded him of Sergeant Dane, who had always been bright in the face of war.

Hannah took her usual place at the counter as he sorted a stack of new books by author. The gunshot scars on his chest pulled as he twisted, but the stitches were long gone. The pain was gone now, just a phantom.

‘I need help,’ Hannah groaned, flicking wayward strands of hair out of her face. It was dark and wavy, often clinging to her cheeks and forehead. She had a square jaw and sky blue eyes. He would have been interested in her, before Dane. Since her, John couldn’t look at women anymore.

John grinned wickedly. ‘It’s your brother’s birthday present, isn’t it?’ Her brother was just a little shorter than John and quite a few years younger. He had the same black-brown hair as his sister, but his jaw was sharper and his eyes a deeper blue. The first time John met him, he’d been nothing but polite. His cheeks had been red the whole time and he stuttered over some words, but John and Gwaine _had_ been talking about BDSM, so he couldn’t blame the guy.

‘I don’t know what to get him!’

Leaning against the counter, John just smiled reassuringly. ‘What does he like?’

‘Historical romances,’ she answered instantly. ‘But he hated _Pride and Prejudice_. Overdone romances annoy the hell out of him.’

Laughing, John replied, ‘I like how he thinks.’ He turned, browsing a couple of shelves behind him. Behind the counter, Merlin had mounted three freestanding shelves. Each shelf had one of their names below it and contained their favourite books. Merlin’s were all old and worn, well looked after but showing their age. Gwaine’s comics were starting to fray around the edges yet otherwise perfectly preserved. They were squashed in with books like _Animal Farm_ and Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ , of all things.

The books on John’s shelf were all new, save _I, Claudius_ and _Hamlet_. But he loved them anyway. He pulled a slim paperback from the end of the shelf.

‘Historical romances are easily overdone,’ he confessed to Hannah. ‘This one is much more subtle but if he’s homophobic I’ll recommend something else.’

He placed his copy of _Brokeback Mountain_ on the table.

When he’d read it the night after his dishonorable discharge and subsequent court case, something clicked. It was a fantastic read and he was sad he hadn’t bought a copy sooner. By the time he was allowed to – _never_ underestimate the power of DADT – he didn’t have the money to spare. When Merlin caught him reading one of the store copies for the second time, he’d taken it from his hands and placed it on John’s shelf. Merlin had done a lot for John over the past few weeks. He would never be able to repay his debt.

Hannah turned the book over in her hands as John summarized the book for her. ‘My brother’s gay, actually. I think he’ll love it.’

‘I’m glad you approve of my choice,’ John remarked dryly. He went to fetch her a shiny new copy, her laugh following him.

 

 

 

 

 

‘She was so into you,’ Gwaine told him conspiratorially, elbowing John in the ribs.

John was putting out the last of the new stock, using a step to reach the top shelf. He laughed, nearly knocking a book out of his hand. ‘She’s cool,’ he said. ‘But I’m not interested.’

Merlin’s voice floated to them from down the aisle. ‘Come on, John – why don’t you take her on a date?’

‘I haven’t seen you get _any_ tail since you got shot,’ Gwaine exclaimed, outraged. ‘That can’t be healthy!’

‘While sex is nice,’ John admitted, ‘not everything revolves around it, Gwaine.’

‘Be careful,’ Merlin called. ‘You’ll shatter his world-view.’

‘Mum, Dad! Why didn’t you tell me there’s more to life than sex?!’ Gwaine cried, flailing his arms about, making accusatory gestures at Merlin and John. ‘I was only trying to make you proud!’

‘Dibs on being Dad,’ John yelled to Merlin.

Merlin’s ‘damn it!’ was accompanied by Gwaine’s guffaws.

 

 

 

 

‘So why don’t you ask this Hannah out on a date?’

Merlin groaned. ‘Not you too, Arthur. Gwaine told everyone, didn’t he?’

Gwaine’s head popped out from the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Yes. Yes I did.’

John grinned. ‘When the Wraith get here, I’m going to put you on a silver platter.’

Leon pulled Gwaine back into the kitchen before he could retort.

John liked being in this apartment. Not only was it luxurious, but it held the most important people in John’s world. Much as Gwaine teased him, the scruffy knight kept John sane. He knew just when to be serious or stupid. Each of the knights offset one another, forming a perfect unit whose strengths and weaknesses were evenly spread.

Sometimes John felt like he could never fit with them. They were the sun and he was Mercury – close, pulled into their orbit, but never quite a part of them. That was okay. At least he was close, able to be within their orbit, able to be with close friends.

He trusted them all, but he liked them for different reasons. He liked Arthur because he was determined – he may not be the cleverest of the bunch, and yet he was willing to do anything for those he held dear. John liked Leon’s constant, unshakable calm and easy demeanor. He liked the politeness that hid Elyan’s stubborn streak, and the quiet nobility that Lancelot exuded. He liked Percival’s silent company. He liked Gwaine’s cheekiness, his wit, and his surprisingly great cooking. But most of all, he liked Merlin’s endless capacity to love and forgive. After so many years of suffering, Merlin had come out relatively unscathed, innocence gone but kindness and compassion still there.

John loved these people. He wasn’t too proud to admit it.

One day they were not going to want him around, but he would enjoy every day leading up to that.

‘Why don’t you ask her on a date?’ Lancelot asked from beside him, gentle as always. ‘You deserve to be happy, John.’

Sheppard laughed self-depreciatingly. ‘Thanks, Lance. I’m just not interested in women any more, I guess.’

He didn’t realize what he’d said until everyone went silent around him.

Percival’s gaze met his. ‘You can trust us,’ he said.

‘I used to be in the Air Force,’ John began, lips twisted into a fallacy of a smile. ‘Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to fly. The sky always seemed like the perfect place to be. I enlisted right out of college, got my commission. Flying was… everything I imagined it would be, but somehow even better than that. For a while, Sergeant Amber Dane was like flying. She was dangerous and funny and a huge risk. Fraternization is strictly against regs, but I never cared about any of that. I loved her.’ John ran a hand over his face. His voice was rough when he continued, chest tight and stinging, ‘I caught her with a Lieutenant in one of the bathrooms on the base. She pulled her pants up and called after me, but I’d already left. The next day, she was sent to provide medical assistance to a unit pinned down thirty clicks from the base. She was a medic, she knew the risks. The brass sent her right into the middle of Taliban territory. The unit was surrounded about half an hour after she got there. They’d managed to save eight civilians from a Taliban camp. Eight young girls who might have been free. There were only four of our soldiers left, but Dane was out there. I had to help her. She broke my heart and I still went after her.

‘I took my chopper, was in the air before the brass even realized. We had little to no intelligence on the enemy forces. If we did, the whole thing could have been avoided. The Taliban had some sort of anti-aircraft guns… Next thing I know, I’m going down, right on top of the survivors. They were all huddled in a little group, so when I dropped I killed them all.’

Pain swam in Arthur’s eyes, but it was nowhere near the amount that coursed through John’s entire being. He could still see one of the girls’ faces as she looked up and saw her death falling on her. John would never forget that day.

‘Shit.’ It was the first time he’d heard Lancelot curse. An arm wrapped around his neck and shoulder, warm and solid. It was only then that John realized he was shaking.

It must have been seven minutes that they sat in silence. The Knights shared his grief as no others ever had, Lance’s arm a comfort over John’s shoulders.

‘Thanks,’ he said, voice scratchy.

‘Any time,’ Merlin promised, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

 

 

 

 

Hannah’s brother really was handsome.

Evan’s jaw was even squarer than he remembered, eyes the blue of the sky and the ocean on a calm day. He smiled easily as John fumbled to clear his math equations off of the counter.

‘Hannah told me you helped pick out my birthday present,’ he said, holding a hand out. ‘I just wanted to say thank you. _Brokeback Mountain_ is my new favourite book.’

John shook his hand and smirked. ‘Sometimes I know what I’m doing,’ he told Evan, conspiratorial.

‘Sure looks like it,’ Evan teased, gesturing at the mess of papers over the counter. ‘What are you working on?’

John’s ears heated a little at the attention. He wasn’t used to being looked at by others – their eyes seemed to stray to more handsome men, or they dismissed him as a grunt. ‘A math proof,’ he said. ‘I’m working on a new angle for string theory.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Evan confessed with a nervous smile, ‘but it sounds cool. What’s it for?’

Sheppard ran a hand over the back of his neck self-consciously. ‘My PhD.’

Evan leant forward on the counter, keen eyes on John. ‘And you work at a book store?’ he commented sarcastically, a grin forming on his face.

‘I also like books,’ John declared. ‘I am an educated man.’

‘For an American.’

‘Guilty as charged,’ he quipped, thickening his drawl so the words were barely recognizable.

‘Does everyone in the South talk like that?’ Evan’s accent seemed so much crisper all of a sudden.

‘Not really. We try to remain understandable.’

Evan’s smile was charming. Warm and gentle. The banter felt so familiar to John, but he’d never been this instantly comfortable with anyone besides Gwaine. There was something about Evan Lorne that was magnetic.

A shrill alarm tone sounded from Evan’s watch, interrupting their banter. ‘Shit,’ the man said, switching it off. ‘I have to get back to my studio.’

John shook his hand again, enjoying the warm strength of his grip. ‘Nice to see you again, Evan.’

‘You won’t get rid of me that easily. I still need a new book! See you next time, John!’ he threw a wave over his shoulder as he left.

John ducked his head. He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

 

 

 

 

‘Who was the guy you spoke to today?’ Merlin asked as he locked the doors for the day. People continued to pour past the windows but John was warm and safe inside the bookstore, his second home.

‘That was Evan,’ Sheppard told him. ‘He’s Hannah’s brother.’

‘The _Brokeback Mountain_ guy?’

John’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Yep.’

‘I like him,’ Merlin declared, eyes light.

It meant a lot to John. He and Merlin were close because they were so similar – they understood each other on a level that Arthur couldn’t quite reach. John and Merlin shared heartbreaks and loss Arthur had never experienced. By all accounts, Lancelot, Arthur, and Gwaine had been the first of the Knights to die. They hadn’t watched their friends waste away as Merlin, John, Leon and Percival had.

John smiled shyly. ‘He’s cool.’

 

 

 

 

 

Two days later, Evan practically skipped into the bookshop.

Embarrassingly, John was smiling before he even reached the counter.

The grin on Evan’s face was infectious. His jacket was old and threadbare, clinging to his broad shoulders, and his jeans were smeared with paints and pastels. His hair was a mess. There was a splash of yellow paint running from beneath his cheekbone to the bolt of his jaw. John resisted the urge to wipe it off.

‘Hey John!’ Evan greeted, way too enthusiastic for a Thursday morning. ‘Got any art books?’

‘No beating around the bush today,’ John drawled. He felt light and heavy at the same time, nervous. He was worried about doing something wrong and driving Evan away from the bookshop for good. His heart rate picked up, adrenaline leaking into his system. But he didn’t want to run – he only felt happy.

‘I stayed up all night,’ Evan confessed sheepishly. ‘I was suddenly inspired the other day and I couldn’t stop painting.’ Flashing a blindingly beautiful grin, he said, ‘waiting for each layer to dry is a new kind of torture.’

‘Come on,’ John laughed, coming around the counter. ‘I’ll show you where the art books are.’ He placed a hand on Evan’s shoulder. The contact sent a thrill through him, the feel of hard muscle starting a low burn in his gut. John didn’t think about pulling away or ceasing contact – he’d always lived a little dangerously: why would now be any different?

‘What are you painting?’ John asked as he guided Evan to the back corner of the store.

Evan rubbed his neck shyly. ‘It’s hard to explain. I saw the most beautiful eyes the other day and I had to paint them, but my style is more abstract, so I’m having trouble with the irises – they aren’t the right colour. The sides of the face are in an impressionist style but the eyes need to be realistic.’ Evan sighed despondently. ‘I’m not very good at eyes – I just had to paint this.’

John gave him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Here,’ he said, handing Evan a book. ‘This should help with eyes and maybe some portraiture if you want to try some of that later on.’

‘Thanks.’ The smile was back in full force, eyes shining with it. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’

John ignored the strange feelings in his chest and smiled back.

 

 

 

 

Once a week, the odd bunch that were John’s closest friends spent the night in the forest. They left on Tuesday nights and returned on Wednesday mornings. Wednesdays were half-days at the shop.

Merlin didn’t get much chance to use his magic every day. Instead, they had to go out and set him lose, letting him use as much magic as possible.

The first time John had been invited to the trip, he’d thought it was cool. And then it was a little terrifying. He settled on awe-inspiring.

Merlin had seemingly inexhaustible reserves of magic. He often conjured entire castles made purely of energy and kept it in place _while he was sleeping_ and still managed to be bright and perky in the mornings.

John hated him a little.

When they reached their usual spot, Merlin was instantly at work. A wave of his hand and the Knights were clad is resplendent chain mail. By the look of it, the stuff was lighter and more tightly linked than what they once would have worn, but the familiarity of it seemed to soothe Leon in particular. He’d been a knight for the longest, after all.

John felt out of place in his jeans and coat. He was a product of the current time, far removed from what Arthur and his Knights appeared to be now. Sure, John was smart, but he wasn’t really like Arthur and co. or even Merlin. Although he loved seeing Merlin’s magic at work, Tuesday nights left him unbalanced and wondering whether John should even be in the lives of King Arthur and Merlin.

Gwaine and Elyan were laughing and pestering Merlin, making increasingly ridiculous requests. Merlin was grinning like an idiot, welcoming the requests and encouraging them.

A wave of Merlin’s hand, a flash of molten gold, and Camelot’s training field appeared around them. The conjuring was so real John would never had known they were in a clearing in the middle of a modern forest, if he hadn’t seen it seconds before. Tents flapped gently in an artificial breeze, racks of weapons glistened in the sudden sunlight. John stripped off his coat as the air warmed around him, leaving him in a t-shirt and jeans on Camelot’s training grounds, surrounded by armor-clad knights.

A saddled horse faded into existence beside him, stomping nervously. Usually, John stood on the sidelines, watching the Knights enjoy themselves and keeping an eye on Merlin. He’d never seen Merlin experience any magical exhaustion, but he didn’t want to drop his guard. Merlin was important – he didn’t need to be protected: John just figured that looking out for him couldn’t hurt.

That night, he was in the middle of the magic. The horse beside him was a gorgeous, shining chestnut, ornate reigns glinting as her head twitched nervously. Reaching out, he placed a gentle hand on her muzzle, stroking over her velvet nose. She snorted, nickering playfully at him. The muscles in her shoulders twitched fitfully.

‘Don’t be scared,’ he murmured gently, like a prayer. ‘You’re safe here.’ John held her chocolate brown gaze, smiling slightly.

She snorted again, pushing her head further into his arms. He took the hint and scratched the swirl of hair between her eyes.

Dirt crunched behind him, followed by Lancelot’s voice. ‘You know,’ he said, hand light on John’s shoulder, ‘you can take her for a ride, if you want.’

‘Maybe.’

‘John,’ Lancelot sighed. ‘We want you to join in with us. That’s why we invited you here.’

‘I appreciate that… I just don’t want to get in the way.’ _I didn’t want to intrude_.

Lancelot picked up on his mood, turning so he could look John in the eye. ‘You are a part of our family now, John. If we were still in Camelot, Arthur would have knighted you two months ago.’

Tightness took root in John’s chest. He sincerely hoped that were true.

‘Well then. I guess I’d better join you,’ he teased, gesturing to Arthur, who had already mounted his horse.

Sliding around to the mare’s side, John mounted smoothly. The mare shifted beneath him, uneasy. A long stroke down her neck settled her, and he gripped the reigns loosely. Turning in a tight circle to work off a little of the horse’s excess energy, he trotted them to the group.

‘You’re a skilled rider,’ Elyan observed, sounding a little offended that John hadn’t told them.

John laughed, spinning the overly energetic mare in another quick circle and directing her to sidestep a few paces. ‘I grew up around horses,’ he confessed.

The training grounds morphed into a forest, vast but light. Greens glowed and shifted as the leaves moved gently in the breeze. Arthur grinned at Merlin and led the group into the forest, bantering with the knights all the while.

John spurred his horse forward, pulling up beside Gwaine. He gave the man a nudge, nearly toppling him from his big brown charger. Laughing wildly as Gwaine righted himself, Sheppard shied his mare away as Gwaine attempted to shove him back.

He lost track of how long they spent trying to topple each other. John wasn’t giving up without a fight. Gwaine was a lot heavier than him – the armor kept him from being pushed too hard, but it was also a disadvantage. Coming in close, John gave a solid shove. Gwaine could have recovered, but his armor dragged him to the ground.

Sheppard whooped in triumph, the knights’ laughter joining it.

As Gwaine melodramatically vowed to get his revenge, John smiled. He was happy, with this eclectic group. Maybe he was a part of them, after all.

 

 

 

 

On Friday, Evan appeared in the shop again.

John returned from lunch to find him speaking amicably with Gwaine. John’s heart rate kicked up a fuss, jealousy rising to the surface. He pushed it down. Gwaine might be so flexible he almost went full circle, but John knew he wouldn’t try to get in Evan’s pants. Gwaine was desperately attempting to woo the guy working at the newsagent down the street and failing miserably.

‘Hey Evan!’

The artist turned, and instead of his usual bright grin, there was a different smile on his face. It was soft, small, private. His eyes brimmed with an emotion John couldn’t quite decipher. ‘John,’ he said, voice almost a whisper.

‘How goes the painting?’ he inquired, stepping closer to Evan than usual.

‘I think it’s finished. I’ll probably tweak it but otherwise I’m pretty happy with it. What have you been up to?’

John smiled back, guiding Evan to a couple of couches near the back of the store. Gwaine winked heartily at them, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘I think I’ve had a breakthrough on my thesis,’ John answered, sprawling out on the couch and sighing as the cushions supported his weight. ‘And I went horse riding the other day. I haven’t been riding in years. It was fun.’

‘That sounds pretty cool, actually. And I’d ask you about your thesis but I would have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Sometimes I have no idea what I’m talking about either.’

‘John…’ Evan began, hesitant. ‘Gwaine mentioned you served in the military… What branch?’

He looked so afraid of offending John that suddenly it was okay he asked. That expression still lurked in his eyes. For once in his life, John was willing to talk about his service without being prodded about it.

He was well and truly fucked.

‘It’s okay,’ he reassured Evan. ‘I don’t usually like to talk about it, but I served in the Air Force. Flying was…’ He trailed off. It was so hard to convey what he felt when he flew, why he’d given up his family for it, and why he’d been a broken shell of a man when he was grounded. He settled for; ‘everything.’

The smile was gone from Evan’s face, even as he shifted closer to John, eyes intent on him. His hand burned an imprint into John’s thigh.

‘I wanted to be in the Forces,’ Evan confided, voice low. ‘Wanted to be an officer, so I had to get my degree. Until then, art was just my hobby. Then I sold an art piece online. Some big-shot rich guy loved the piece, paid two grand for it. I only asked for five hundred.’ Evan’s smile was both proud and self-depreciating. John’s hand slid over his.

‘Somehow I got famous. I even needed a pseudonym and everything. Ended up with a successful art career, and mum didn’t want me to be in the Forces anymore. Still…’ John pressed their shoulders together when Evan hesitated. ‘I love my art but I wanted to fly. I never really got the chance.’

‘Maybe one day,’ John suggested, giving him a hopeful smile.

That seemed to help a little bit, at least.

Evan brightened. ‘I actually came here today because I wanted to ask you something.’

‘And?’

Hand twisting upward to wind his fingers through John’s, Evan asked, ‘would you go on a date with me? There’s this little Chinese restaurant down the street and –‘

‘Evan,’ John interrupted, squeezing his hand. Their shoulders were still pressed tightly together but that had nothing to do with the gooey feeling spreading through his body. ‘I’d love to.’

‘Oh,’ Evan said, goofy grin doing funny things to John’s insides. The artist was staring at John’s lips, as if he couldn’t look away. ‘That’s great! Um… Shall I stop by here after close on Monday night and –‘

John’s free hand slid up the length of Evan’s neck, cutting off his next sentence. The smooth skin of his neck gave way to soft scratchiness along his jawline, the hair at the back of his head tickling against the tips of John’s fingers. His lips were so pink – right _there_ – and John couldn’t resist a taste.

Evan’s lips were as gentle as his private smile. This was just for John. A bolt of desire shot straight downward, Evan’s lips moving softly against his own. The tease of slightly parted lips sent a thrill through his chest. Evan’s hand came up, tracing the line of John’s jaw, and he shivered, the drag of fingertips over his skin driving him crazy. Flicking his tongue gently, he parted Evan’s lips, the first touch of tongue a confirmation, an absolution. When Evan’s thighs bracketed John’s as he moved closer, unidentified feelings taking root in John’s gut, he pulled away. His hand refused to move from Evan’s skin, so he answered awkwardly, ‘Monday works.’

Evan’s startled laugh was full of delight.

This time, when Evan left, he wrapped John up in a hug so perfect he forgot how to breathe. John hoped Gwaine didn’t see the kiss he snuck in as they hugged.

 

 

 

 

The Chinese restaurant was closed on Mondays.

‘Good job,’ John drawled sarcastically, shit-eating grin on his face.

‘Like _you_ could have done any better,’ Evan retorted, but that infuriating smile softened the words.

‘I can, and I will,’ he declares. Looping his arm over Evan’s shoulders, he announced, ‘behold! How to have a successful first date, step one: find a restaurant that’s open.’

Evan elbowed him in the ribs, laughing.

The date wasn’t a complete wreck after all.

 

 

 

John was busy reorganizing the Terry Pratchett shelf to house his latest release when Merlin came up beside him. It was Wednesday, and he was glowing in the way he always does when he uses his magic. There was an idiotic grin on his face.

‘Date went well?’ he asked, eyebrows waggling madly.

John grinned sheepishly. ‘It was kind of a disaster,’ he said. ‘But the good kind of disaster.’

Merlin got in his face, watching way too closely. ‘You’re so gone.’

‘I know.’

 

 

 

 

Evan showed up the next day, dumping a brown paper bag on John’s math proof. It startled the living shit out of him, and he jumped back, on edge.

Evan’s laugh was delighted, only increasing in volume as he caught John’s expression.

‘I hate you.’

‘I know,’ Evan replied cheerily. ‘Have lunch with me?’

John eyed the bag distrustfully. ‘What did you bring?’

‘Marmite sandwiches. Don’t give me that look. I told you I can’t cook.’

John grimaced. ‘But Marmite is terrible.’ Then repeated, ‘Marmite? Seriously?’

Evan threw the bag into the bin, eyebrow raised. ‘Then you’ll have lunch with me?’

He hesitated, realizing he’d been back into a corner. ‘You little shit,’ he accused.

‘You like me that way.’

 

 

 

 

Gwaine helped him close up on Friday. He packed away the books in relative silence, occasionally singing a few words of the songs playing over the store’s speakers.

He was taking the money from the registers out to the safe when Gwaine’s voice interrupted him.

‘Hey John,’ he said quietly. ‘Can I ask you something?’

And Gwaine was his best friend. He knew the answer. ‘Yeah?’

Long brown hair hid his eyes. ‘You like this guy, don’t you?’

John ducked his head, ears burning. ‘Yeah. I do.’

‘Do you…do you think you love him?’

It wasn’t what John was expecting. He swallowed his deep-seated awkwardness over talking about his feelings. He wasn’t the same person anymore. ‘Maybe,’ he answered slowly. ‘I think so.’

‘What does it feel like?’

‘I don’t really know. Love feels different every time.’

Gwaine nodded, shoulders hunched.

Coming closer, John put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You know, you should tell Percy how you feel,’ he advised.

‘Yeah?’ The hope in Gwaine’s eyes told him all John needed to know about how genuine his friend’s intentions were.

‘Yeah.’

 

 

 

 

Evan brought him sweets every Friday. John insisted he do so after he brought more Marmite sandwiches. At least the chocolates were edible.

 

 

 

 

Merlin’s eyes were glowing, ethereal. He sat next to John, watching silently as Arthur knocked Elyan down again. John cringed at the crunch of wood on armor. Jousting was not Elyan’s strong point.

The area around them was vast, open. The ground was sandy but solid beneath his feet, sunlight pouring onto the back of his neck. The t-shirt he wore soaked it up – he should probably wear less black.

‘John,’ Merlin murmured. ‘If you could have anything, what would it be?’

Sheppard didn’t even think, just blurted, ‘wings.’

Merlin grinned stupidly at him, and he fell over.

Looking into the sky, John struggled to pull himself up. When he stood, there was something pulling at the muscles of his back, heavy and soft. He stretched the muscle, and was greeted by the sight of huge black wings. The feathers were soft and sensitive to his touch, and he stared at them in wonder. He’d always dreamed about having wings. As a kid, he’d fallen off of too many objects in completely stupid attempts to fly. He always wondered if he should have been born a bird.

Merlin gave him everything he wanted, and more.

With a flap of his new-fangled wings, he soared.

Adrenaline rushed through him, from the middle of his chest to the tips of his feathers, and was glorious. The wind whipped around his body, but it was barely touching him. He flew – flew far and fast. His back burned and his wings ached when he crashed to the ground, but it was worth it.

Flying was freedom. As a pilot, he’d been trapped in a cockpit by stupid regulations, the joy of flight ripped away from him by the brass. But he was free, and flying under his own power.

It was indescribable. Wonderful. Perfect.

It was everything.

He laughed into the sandy ground, scrapes along his arms stinging, his back on fire. Merlin’s face swam into view, and he was grinning.

‘Thank you,’ John said, and meant it with every fiber of his being.

 

 

 

 

John was proofreading his thesis when a customer rang the bell right in front of his face.

He marked his place and looked up, pissed, to find one Rodney McKay smirking back at him.

John floundered. ‘McKay,’ he said. ‘I never expected to see you again.’

McKay _hmmed_ , dragging a page of John’s proof toward him. ‘Well, I thought you were dead, Sheppard,’ he replied testily, glancing up at him with annoyance in his eyes. ‘You have no idea how long it took to find you.’

Sheppard smirks at him. ‘I thought you knew everything about me.’

‘Apparently not,’ he snorts. ‘This is not completely stupid. Who wrote this?’

John yanks it out of his hands, placed it back into his carefully arranged pile. ‘Who do you think wrote it?’ he snarked. ‘I did.’

‘Huh.’

‘Yeah. Look, what are you doing here?’ John demanded, pissed. ‘You need help with any more space vampires, or it is the little grey guys this time?’

‘No, actually,’ McKay snapped.

‘Dragging me out of forced retirement?’

‘Wrong again.’

‘Harvesting my brain for science?’

‘Oh my god, you really think I want your brain in a jar? It’s much more useful when it’s in that annoyingly pretty head of yours,’ McKay growled, mouth slanting unhappily.

‘Well, then? What do you want?’

‘Oh, I can’t just drop by for a friendly visit every now and then?’

‘You thought I was dead.’

‘Well, you’re clearly not.’

‘ _Clearly not_.’

‘I’m here to thank you, you ungrateful moron,’ McKay shouted, hands moving wildly. ‘Thank you, John Sheppard, for saving the planet. Because of you, we didn’t end up as lifeless husks. So yes. Thank you.’

John stopped dead, not ready for any of this. No one thanked him for anything. Ever.

‘I know you don’t want the thanks,’ McKay said. ‘But you saved the planet, John. You deserve that, at least.’

John smiled. ‘Thanks, McKay.’

‘Now, about your thesis…’

 

 

 

 

Arthur came to the shop to help him close when Merlin had to go Kent for a couple of days. They used the quiet to unload boxes of new stock and trade barbs, and it was nice. John didn’t spend much time with Arthur outside of group situations. He was starting to remember why Arthur was the Once and Future King.

Arthur caught his arm as they made to lock up. The store was still warm around them, the scent of new books in the air and the dull roar of traffic beyond the glass.

‘If we were still in Camelot,’ Arthur told him, ‘I would knight you.’

John frowned. ‘But –‘

‘I know you believe you’re not important – that you don’t matter as much as Elyan or Lancelot, just because you weren’t in Camelot all those years ago. But you’re important to us. You’re our friend. My friend. I don’t want you to feel like an outsider.’

John swallowed thickly, said, ‘I don’t –‘

‘I know,’ Arthur replied, other hand in the juncture of John’s neck and shoulder. ‘We’re your family, John. Just as you are mine.’

And suddenly it didn’t matter that Arthur saw him cry.

 

 

 

 

Evan took his hand, led him into the studio.

It was bright, airy. The walls were white, the floors a rich dark oak, and easels dominated every available space. Colours swirled around, contrasting against each other to create something new. The canvasses ranged in size, but each of them was just as magnificent, just as unique.

Evan took him to the far wall, said, ‘I painted this for you.’

The canvas was huge, easily three by four meters, propped haphazardly by paint supply boxes and unused easels.

It was a close-up of a face, and it was beautiful. The face was done in reds and blues – from John’s distance, the colours appeared to make a reddish purple. Cheekbones flowed smoothly into the eyes themselves. They were painted in a different style, looked like they might jump off of the page. The eyes were hazel, green notes lurking in the background and weirdly familiar.

They were his eyes. Evan painted his eyes with all the passion he pours into his art.

Evan’s arms came around him, held him tight. ‘I love you,’ he whispered.

John’s throat was too tight to speak. He kissed Evan instead.

 

 

 

 

Gwaine asked him how it went.

John replied, ‘he loves me,’ floored, and not sure what to do with it.

 

 

 

 

The street lamp flooded light into Evan’s bedroom, painting his skin gold. Bared to John, he was impossibly beautiful. Hard muscle under creamy skin dusted with dark hair. Broad shoulders and strong legs.

John propped himself up on his elbow and watched him. Evan’s face was sweaty, cheeks red, blush spilling down onto his naked chest. He came down slowly, panting lightly, a hand on John’s skin.

John’s chest burned with the weight of his feelings, the warmth of Evan’s hand on his ribs. His eyes were still closed, lashes falling softly onto his cheeks.

‘Evan,’ he whispered, placing a hand on the bolt of his jaw. Blue eyes were on him in an instant, glowing with something John didn’t want to name.

‘You’re better than flying,’ John told him, like a secret. _I love you_.

Evan smiled. Whispered, ‘I know.’

**Author's Note:**

> The first half of this has been floating around on my hard drive for a year, and I finally decided to finish it. 
> 
> Sorry about the shorter scenes at the end. It was the way the story wanted to be written, so I obliged. 
> 
> Drop me a comment to tell me whether it's shit or not (I don't even know)!


End file.
